


satisfying

by harrynightingales



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Established Relationship, Facials, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Victorian era, eye contact as foreplay, mild clothing porn but i don’t know about enough about fashion to follow through, thanks mr. marinelli for your filmography which gives us all kinds of historical nicky inspiration, there’s a thin line between masturbation and sex and this fic is that line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrynightingales/pseuds/harrynightingales
Summary: Sometimes the experience of not being able to touch each other, the forbidden allure of it, builds into a passion that can barely be contained, until the moment they are behind closed doors and then they are on each other, desperate to touch anywhere and everywhere. Other times, they like to let the heat simmer, to drag it out as long as possible.Based on the look in Nicolò’s eyes, Yusuf is fairly confident they are dealing with the latter.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 52
Kudos: 305





	satisfying

**Author's Note:**

> my first ever fic after over a decade of being in fandoms because [luca in a dangerous fortune](https://hawkaye.tumblr.com/post/626490234864025600/isnt-this-what-you-always-dreamed-of) (die pfeiler der macht) would not leave me in peace. i love the idea of nicky channeling some mickey miranda bastard energy but in a fun, sexy, keeping-things-fresh-with-the-hubby way, not a ruining-everyone’s-lives kind of way. 
> 
> my unending love and appreciation for [sam](https://shatterstared.tumblr.com/) for listening to me scream about this fic constantly, for being my cheerleader and first reader, and giving me the confidence to let this fic see the light of day.

Yusuf closes the door behind him and turns to survey the parlor room Nicolò had led him to. It was moderately sized, furnished and decorated in the style of the day, but evidently one of the lesser-used rooms compared to the many larger and grander rooms available in the house. He steps forward, feeling Nicolò’s gaze follow him. 

There had been no words exchanged between them in hours, since they had first arrived and made their polite greetings with both new and familiar guests at the gathering, but Yusuf had a strong sense of what had brought them to this room, the motivation leading Nicolò to brush up dangerously close to Yusuf and instruct him in a low tone to follow him.

They had found themselves in England with Andromache and Sébastien, despite the former’s wariness with the country after her experience with Quynh over three centuries prior. Their primary target for the evening was a man who reportedly ran in dangerous circles, the types of which the four immortals had spent their many lifetimes subduing and eliminating. 

The man himself was aloof and it was quickly decided that approaching him directly would likely arouse suspicion, a danger which went unwarranted considering how little they still knew. Instead, the approach was to gather information indirectly - starting with the man’s wife. Charming men and women alike was a common enough, if disliked aspect of the work they did. Yusuf, or Joseph as he went by in England, was the most successful in these missions. His charm and easy smile encouraged many to let their guard down. However, at times their marks were more drawn to Nicolò and his enigmatic aura, or Sébastien, whose eyes betrayed a depth of emotion. With little knowledge of who the lady of the house was most likely to be interested in, all three had taken the opportunity at their first meeting to make an impression, along with Andromache, disguised for the purpose of this mission as a young man named Andrew. She despised the trappings of women’s fashion of the time, and after the horror of her most recent experience in England, none were surprised when she wordlessly took on a male disguise. 

That did not, however, preclude the three men’s amusement at the realization that their hostess had passed over them with little interest, but that it was the youthful Andrew who had caught her gaze. As such, the remaining three were left largely to their own devices while Andromache lay the groundwork for eliciting information from their target. Booker had taken the opportunity to make himself comfortable in a corner with an unending series of drinks, a combination of those offered by the hosts and those he had discreetly brought himself.

Yusuf found himself in a series of lively conversations, often attracting a circle of admirers who hung on his every word. Yet even as he attempted to focus on the discussion at hand, laughing where appropriate or chiming in with a carefully edited anecdote of one of their past adventures, Yusuf couldn’t help but be aware of Nicolò’s presence, of Nicolò’s gaze fully fixed on him from across the room. 

Nicolò was quiet by nature, but that made him thoughtful; intentional. Yusuf, who couldn’t help but express the love that bubbled and overflowed in him through poetry and declarations of undying devotion, had certainly experienced the joy of his Nicolò putting into words the depths of his own love. The words might be less flowery, but the simplicity and intensity behind them never failed to knock the breath right out of Yusuf’s lungs. However, Nicolò most naturally expressed his love in action, in small touches and thoughtful gestures, in using his body as a shield in battle and as a means to bring Yusuf to pleasure beyond description in bed. 

That was also why he knew without a doubt that Nicolò’s every action this evening was entirely intentional. 

It had started innocuously enough, with the briefest touch to the small of his back as Nicolò excused himself, later a fleeting brush of their shoulders as Nicolò walked past. At one point Yusuf glanced across the room to find Nicolò making the acquaintance of a young woman, and even as he bent to chastely bring her hand to his lips, he looked up directly at Yusuf with a fire in his eyes that made Yusuf’s breath catch in his throat. 

From that point it was obvious what he was doing, and Yusuf was powerless to resist. Nicolò was not a vain man by any stretch of the imagination, content to dress himself in the simplest garments that met his needs. On the other hand, he was not unaware of himself and how he was perceived; he had heard his beauty extolled in every combination of words possible, seen the evidence of Yusuf’s appreciation of his appearance in the form of sketchbooks upon sketchbooks filled with his likeness. Across the centuries he had been painted and sculpted, had witnessed men and women alike trip over their words or bat their eyes in his presence, so affected by him. Nicolò knew how to take advantage of the way others saw him, using it for the purpose of their work where it could be useful, but the attention was otherwise inconsequential. 

He only cared when it came to Yusuf, a thought which still made the latter’s heart swell with something like pride. Yusuf found him beautiful in all forms, in every iteration of fashion and grooming they had experienced in their centuries together, but he was also at heart an artist, a craftsman. He appreciated elegant clothing, the effect of fine fabric and well-constructed pieces, of colours that complemented each other just so, and the artistry of a perfectly tailored fit that subtly accentuated the curves and lines of the body. Yusuf enjoyed it for himself, to participate in changing fashions and styles, but there was a special joy in seeing Nicolò made even more alluring in garments that highlighted and complemented his beauty. Nicolò in turn had learned to love the way he could bring Yusuf to his knees simply with the right choice of clothing.

It seemed Nicolò was happy to use this information to his advantage, based on his selection of wardrobe for the evening. At first glance he hardly stood out from the rest of the men in attendance dressed in the same style of the day, but to Yusuf, Nicolò always appeared as if out of a dream, bright and beautiful, leaving those around him faded and dull in comparison. The bluish tones of his waistcoat brought out the same hue in his eyes; the close fit of his dark dinner jacket drew attention to both the breadth of his shoulders and the narrowing of his waist and hips. He had no doubt seen the ways Yusuf’s eyes dragged slowly over his frame after he had first dressed himself, an action Yusuf attempted to resist repeating so blatantly here. 

Yet Yusuf knew he was not alone in his appreciation. Nicolò could hide his interest in Yusuf’s own choice of wardrobe behind unreadable eyes, but Yusuf knew his lover well enough to recognize the underpinnings of desire when he saw it. Knowing Nicolò’s single-minded dedication when it came to getting what he wanted, Yusuf was not surprised when the evening’s slow-building tension culminated in Nicolò’s murmured request - one which would take a man stronger than Yusuf to resist.

Which is how Yusuf finds himself here, in this parlour, away from prying eyes and with the privacy to find out exactly what Nicolò intends for them. His lover’s expression gives little away, showing nothing but the barest hint of a smile.

“Sit down.” Nicolò says invitingly, gesturing to the empty armchair. Yusuf obeys, and as Nicolò approaches, considers the result - the convenient position they had found themselves in, how easily he could reach forward to the fastening of Nicolò’s trousers, if that is what Nicolò had in mind. 

His musings are cut short as Nicolò steps ever so slightly backwards. Evidently not. Nicolò still has drinks in each hand, and brings one forward to Yusuf in a silent offering. He shakes his head, and Nicolò wastes no time in lifting the glass to his lips, downing the first and then the second drink in quick succession. Yusuf cannot help but watch him as he drinks, the subtle movements of his throat making Yusuf’s mouth dry in a way that has nothing to do with his refusal of a beverage.

However, Yusuf remains perfectly still in his seat, with a growing awareness of what Nicolò is playing at. All evening they had been separated, propriety and customs governing appropriate behaviour keeping them from anything but the most casual touches. Sometimes the experience of not being able to touch each other, the forbidden allure of it, builds into a passion that can barely be contained, until the moment they are behind closed doors and then they are on each other, desperate to touch anywhere and everywhere. Other times, they like to let the heat simmer, to drag it out as long as possible. Based on the look in Nicolò’s eyes, Yusuf is fairly confident they are dealing with the latter.

Nicolò holds his gaze and casually makes his way to the sofa across from him, one that is perfectly capable of holding two people. The fact that Nicolò purposefully directed him to the separate armchair tells him everything he needs to know; his seat is only a few short steps away, but the distance seems an insurmountable chasm now. Nicolò steps backwards slowly, eyes never leaving Yusuf’s as he lowers himself into the seat, immediately melting in a comfortable sprawl, his legs splayed open, arm casually draped across his thigh. Nicolò rests his left elbow on the arm of the sofa, fingers lightly scattered across his face, one finger ever so slowly brushing across his bottom lip. In that moment he looks a vision, the sheen of his waistcoat in the dim light emphasizing the way it stretches taut across his chest, the cravat hiding the collarbone Yusuf loves to lavish attention on, and those trousers, which seem to be getting tighter by the minute, leaving little to the imagination.

Still, Yusuf cannot tear his gaze from Nicolò’s eyes, open wide in a way to complete an expression of perfect innocence. Then the corner of his mouth lifts in the slightest hint of a playful smile, and Yusuf knows he is done for.

Nicolò’s other hand begins an excruciatingly slow slide up his thigh, his wrist curling as he drags his palm across his fully-clothed cock. The sight makes Yusuf light-headed. He wants to laugh at himself, that after seeing Nicolò fully naked and in every form of undress possible, having touched him and fucked him and been fucked by him in every way known to man, that _this_ of all things could still leave him breathless. Still, he cannot help but send a quick prayer of thanks that even after almost 800 years, the sight of this man still makes his heart beat like the first time.

Yusuf finds he cannot focus; his eyes will drop to Nicolò’s long, clever fingers continuing their slow but firm slide up and down his cock, then raise up to meet Nicolò’s eyes, then to his lips, and back down to his hand. After a few torturous rounds, Nicolò breaks his pattern, bringing his hand further up to undo the fastening of his trousers. Yusuf cannot help but bite his bottom lip in anticipation of what he is about to see, only to find disappointment when his lover’s hand disappears into behind the white material of his undergarments. He lets out a small groan in frustration, which causes Nicolò to still his ministrations immediately. Nicolò’s smirk is evident as he makes a small _tsk tsk_ sound and shakes his head.

 _So that’s how its going to be_ , Yusuf thinks. There are no set rules, on these rare occasions when they end up making some form of competition of their pleasure. They decide as they go along, and Yusuf is already settling into those that Nicolò has come up with for them: no touching the other, and evidently, no voices. He wonders absently if these rules apply to Nicolò as well, how much Yusuf would love to hear the beautiful little sounds he makes as he chases his own release. But his understanding of their rules wins him a small reward as Nicolò resumes his slow strokes. 

Yusuf is well aware of his own hardness, straining against the confines of his trousers. He presses a palm against his length, maintaining eye contact with Nicolo as he struggles to keep his breathing even. For the first time, Nicolò’s expression changes, the nonchalant facade dropped, and Yusuf clearly sees the hunger in his eyes as his gaze drops downwards. _Of course_ , Yusf thinks, _this is a seduction_. Nicolò wants him to give in first, and Yusuf takes great satisfaction in watching Nicolò’s expression shift again, his eyes narrowing in frustration when he moves his hand away to drape over the side of his chair. Nicolò doesn’t let it last, evidently not ready to concede defeat so easily. The smirk is back as he pushes his trousers just far down enough that he’s able to release his cock. 

Nicolò gives himself a perfunctory stroke, brushing his fingers over the tip of his cock to collect the bead of pre-come gathering there. There is a wicked gleam in his eyes as he slowly raises his fingers to his lips, sucking the digits with far more vigor than required to clean them off. Yusuf barely manages to hold back a groan at the sight - it is far from the most filthy thing he has seen his Nicolò do, but something about the image of his lover, all dressed up and fit for high society yet debauched in this way, goes straight to his cock. He doesn’t even realize he’s unfastened his own trousers and reached in to grip his length until it is already there. The satisfied grin it wins him from Nicolò is enough to throw any thoughts of competition from his mind. 

Nicolò releases his fingers and spits in his palm, resuming his strokes with renewed intensity. His gaze flits from Yusuf’s face to his cock, back and forth. Yusuf sees the look of unabashed want that Nicolò wears when he watches his harsh strokes, but it is when their eyes meet again - the intensity of Nicolò’s gaze that he knows is matched in his own - that sends a jolt of arousal through him. Nicolo’s unoccupied hand moves around him restlessly, as though all focus is dedicated to maintaining the consistent rhythm of his right, the other left adrift, untethered. Those clever fingers grip the armrest at his side, drag through his hair, slide down the front of his waistcoat. The flush on Nicolò’s cheeks extends down his neck, hidden behind the high collar of his shirt, and Yusuf internally bemoans the fact that Nicolò never bothered to loosen it, to undo the knot of his cravat, and let Yusuf see just how far down that flush continues. 

The room is silent but for their harsh breathing, the light slap of hand on skin, and the distant sound of revelry beyond the door.

A number of signs indicate to Yusuf that Nicolò is getting close: his ragged breathing, the way he closes his eyes and drops his head backwards as he rides out his pleasure, the small thrusts of his hips to meet the strokes of his hand. Yusuf has a sudden desire to be there, to witness Nicolò’s release closer than from across the room. 

He makes the decision quickly, crossing the space between them with a few long steps. From this close of a vantage point, he can see many details lost to him at a distance - the sweat collecting at his brow, his reddened lips from biting back groans. Yusuf wants desperately to touch him, to bring him over the edge, but he also wants to finish what they started. He kneels with one leg in the space between Nicolò’s legs, hovering over him but careful not to brush against his cock or the hand stroking it. Instead, he leans to the side just enough to reach Nicolò’s cheek - not a kiss, but a gentle drag of his lips across the sensitive skin. After so long with no contact, its enough to make Nicolò tremble, his hand stuttering in its movement. Nicolo is so close and Yusuf is desperate to see him fall apart, so he breaks his self-imposed silence to murmur low into his ear, “So beautiful, so desperate for me, cuore mio.” 

Yusuf knows his words have had their intended effect when he feels Nicolo stiffen, then shudder beneath him, eyes closed and mouth agape. Yusuf wants to chase those lips with this own, but contents himself with resting their foreheads together, breathing into each other and drinking in the sight of Nicolo’s expression as he rides out the last waves of his release. 

Nicolò is still breathing heavily when his eyes flutter open, but his eyes are bright and surprisingly alert. He raises his hand, sticky from his spit and come, brushing his thumb across his own lips before looking down meaningfully at Yusuf’s neglected but still-erect cock, and looking up again to meet his gaze. Centuries together mean they are adept at communicating wordlessly; Yusuf thinks he knows what Nicolò is suggesting. Still - 

“Do you want me to- can I-” he asks haltingly in Italian.

“Si, si.” Nicolò rushes to answer before he’s even finished the question.

Nicolò reaches for Yusuf’s hand resting between them and spits into his palm, then leans back, lowering himself further into the couch. Yusuf stands fully, finally providing his cock the attention he has been desperate for with slick strokes. It doesn’t take long to work himself up again, with Nicolò debauched and gorgeous and expectant beneath him. Nicolò brings himself closer, near enough that he could so easily surge forward and take Yusuf into his mouth, finish him off that way. The way his eyes greedily take in Yusuf’s hand working his shaft, the lick of his lips betray the strength with which he is resisting the desire to do just that. Yusuf reaches forward with his left hand to grip Nicolò’s hair to keep him in place and is rewarded with a low whine. 

Nicolò finally tears his gaze away to meet Yusuf’s eyes and says, in ragged Arabic, “Come on, Yusuf, give it to me.” 

All Yusuf is able to provide as warning is a low groan before he comes, his legs nearly dropping out beneath him from the intensity of it, and grip on Nicolò’s hair tightening for some form of purchase. He forces his eyes open to see his handiwork, his beautiful Nicolò with streaks of come across his face. Nicolò is already reaching for what we can with his tongue, and the sight is enough to make Yusuf weak. He lets himself collapse on the sofa, half on top of Nicolò, who lets out a small laugh. 

Yusuf reaches into his waistcoat pocket for a handkerchief - they are in dire need of a clean up before they can dare leave the parlour. He starts with Nicolò’s face, before moving on to do the best he can for the stained clothes. They tuck themselves back in their trousers, and Yusuf laughs at Nicolò as he tries to rearrange his hair in a way that looks anything other than that of someone who has been thoroughly fucked. Yusuf takes over, running his fingers through the strands in an approximation of the style it was before their little assignation. 

“It’s nicely tousled.” he offers in as serious a tone as he can manage. 

Nicolò swats at him half-heartedly, but the grin adorning his face tells Yusuf that any societal disapproval or teasing from Andromache and Sébastien at the expense of their clearly disheveled appearances will be well worth it.

“We should probably meet up with the others, see if Andromache has any updates.” Yusuf says, taking a last glance around the room. 

Nicolò says nothing in response, looking thoughtful for a moment. Yusuf sees a grin starting to play at his lips, and that mischievous glint in his eyes. Without a word, he stands and leaves the room, leaving Yusuf confused and intrigued.

Looking at the door Nicolò had just passed through, he sees that familiar hand reach out, fingers curling in a classic “come hither” motion. 

Yusuf has to grin as he follows the beckoning hand of his lover. If Nicolò’s new idea is anything as good as the last one, they were set to have a very good night indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> this also ended up being a fill for my own damn prompt at the kink meme, but since it was mine i also think i have the right to not link it and retain some of my dignity.
> 
> any and all comments are appreciated! please be gentle for the sake of my fragile self-confidence.
> 
> feel free to follow over on [tumblr](https://harrynightingales.tumblr.com/)!


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